


Liquid Velvet

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crack Fic, F/F, Humor, Meme, One Shot, Typos, Welcome to the Cringe Fest, this is all a joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 06:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: Once upon a time, Joan and Vera were together forever and they went to see Mr. Stewart perform in a band.





	Liquid Velvet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doozersmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doozersmom/gifts), [beccarc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccarc/gifts).



> Apologies for the long-winded absence. I’ve been so busy and run-down due to academia. This fic is meant to be non-sensical and silly. If you find it unbearable or foolish, that’s quite alright. If you cringe, well... I don't blame you. It’s based on an abundance of jokes accrued from a few friends that I spent time with last year.
> 
> This is... not meant to be good.
> 
> I’ll be writing some serious Joan and Vera soon. I wish you all well.

Once upon a time, secret work wives Governor Joan Ferguson and Deputy Governor Vera Bennett have a fantastical relationship that their reality TV show betrayed. In this scene, Cruella de Ville has left the premise of her prison. A glass of vodka – neat – rests within her iron grip. 

A group of college students crowd the bar, bemoaning over the tragedy of a Sunday night, while a band begins to assemble. Jake Stewart fiddles with his guitar to compensate for his toxic masculinity. Luckily, Will Jackson and Matthew Fletcher are nowhere in sight to butt heads and rub swords.

“Um…” Vera begins, uncertainty feeding into her frazzled nerves. “Why are we here, Guv’na?”

What a thot. Her tongue drags across the roof of her mouth. Vera proceeds to drown her sorrows in a hearty glass of white which she swaps after drinking some sweet, sweet cider.

Perturbed by Vera’s self-awareness and inquiry, Joan’s right eye twitches. From her satchel, she produces a sleek, rose-gold Apple iPad. However, it isn’t Wentworth’s CCTV that this sassy voyeur watches tonight.

“Because I have to give the illusion of care,” she drawls in a thick, husky tenor. Mmf.

Given her Machiavellian schemes, the Governor naturally ordered a drink for Mr. STewarT to appear amicable, but alas: there was ex-lax in his whiskey-coke. How naughty.

To appease her God complex, she plays Zoo Tycoon. She cages lions and tigers and bears (oh my). Only to unleash them on the zoo’s guests. Another prawn (yes, the small crustacean and NOT a chess pawn) is lost to the game. Havoc sends tingles down her spine.

There’s enough cliché prose to rot your teeth out. Writers become tired of describing every, single acTion. Sometimes, they produce trash like this.

“You don’t run this zoo, I do.”

Ignoring the steady thrum of instrumentals, the Patron Saint of Pencils continues to plot and conspire. Out of boredom, Vera aches to pull out her scandalous copy of 50 Shades.

Everyone’s entitled to an opinion. This wasn’t for you. It was never meant for you. Even the author isn’t sure who this is meant for. Talk about becoming a cult classic.

A familiar officer sits at the counter. As per usual, Smiles makes bets with the bartender about which drunkard is doomed to go with another. 

“Fifty on the prudes by the band.”

She refers to the Sapphic ones in the suits, of course.

“Sorted.”

He gives her a watered-down drink.

Mr. Stewart jams out with his hip crew. Thankfully, there’s no body slamming. Meanwhile, a mysterious lemon rolls by. Must be a sign or some unprecedented symbolism. Linda seems to think so. She does shots.

“Gold comes out of her arse,” Jake croons some power ballad aired on late night infomercials.

Vera looks scandalized, because she is. Now you know.

Her attention drifts to the band’s members. A blonde stands out in particular. She squints, because she believes that it will correcT her vision. IncorrecT.

Intruding on personal space, she nudges her honey in the curvaceous side.

“Isn’t that Nash’s ex?”

Joan ceases her Zoo Tycoon manipulations, offended by the lack of classical taste and the shrill shredding of a guitar. Disgusting.

“How could I remember? I only care for Jianna. Ah, Anderson. Ah, you. I do care, Vera.”

No one thirsts over Vera Bennett, because she’s forever alone. She takes a fucking sip. The warm embrace of alcohol encourages her to approach dark, forbidden taboo.

“Joan, can you take me out if I ignore your dark, tragic Rochester past?”

xoxo Gossip Inmate.

Her naivety and innocence act as a pencil eraser stimulant. This sexual tension is more intense than an episode of Drag Race. They make lustful eyes at one another. Equally so, Joan tickles her pickle.

“Yes,” her sexy boss husks in a throaty whisper.

Vera musters the courage to speak her mind. Talking to Joan, sometimes, is more frightening than putting Mum out of her misery.

“You look sexu tonight.” A wince, an internal slap of the wrist. “Sexy, I mean.”

The tension is too great, too consuming, too tempting. They snog, they pash, they make-out as two women rediscovering their sensuality. Soft tongues lap and intertwine. A strand of saliva connects them. Yum.

“I’m going to plough your vulva,” Joan whispers salaciously into the shell of her ear after taking a breathy break.

Overly enthused, Vera reaches for the tight bun of power glued to the back of her head. Joan scolds her. The tsk is more painful than any toxicity they’ve spewed.

“You cannot touch the bun. It’s a phallic symbol.”

“Oh.” A pause. “K.”

“UnaccepTable, Vera. That’s my one liner.”

Vera titters, still high from the Hollywood kiss and drunk as hell.

“Politely, but firmly, copulate with this vagina,” the mouse whimpers and begs, a blush spreading from ear to ear.

“K.”

Time for a steamy shag. However, there was only one bed: the table. Mistress Machiavelli drags the moisT inTimate wipes across the table to prepare. There’s a grand slam on the bar counter. Vera giggles in delight at the rough treatment, secretly a fiend in bed.

In her delight, Linda scores a couple hundred. Secretly, she is pleased by the copulation. She whips out her phone to film some of it. Perfect blackmail for instantaneous. This story falls out of sequence like Season 6.

Sex, sex, sex.

Joan plunders that booty. Talk about getting railed. Meow.

Very intimate, very moist, and very sexy.

A whirlwind rushes by. Jake races to the toilet. The remainder of the band starts to play “Careless Whisper.”

Aftercare involves intimate canoodling and tender smooches that were never shown on-screen. Working up both an appetite and an extreme thirst, they wind up at a vodka bar where a sensuous staring contest ensues despite the interruption of students on a bender.

There, they have a shot.

“The establishment is Polish? But you’re Russian...”

The Governor hushes her with a hiss, “Details matter not, you insipid little mouse.”

Oh, how Vera loves to be insulted. She blushes and feels the electric tingles once more. However, her stomach gurgles. Hunger outweighs lust. Alas, at this ungodly hour, all restaurants have long since closed.

Their final destination happens to be none other than Hungry Jack’s. They stand in line. Joan’s gloved hand encompasses Vera’s to assert dominance and lay her claim. None dare to test her.

Many tipsy souls wait in the line of this limbo.

“I’m telling you, this place is knock-off BK,” an American tourist complains in a nasally, whining inflection.

Joan scoffs before snapping their neck.

Rather than reacting in horror, Vera flashes heart eyes. Her pupils become hearts. It’s quite frightening to passerby.

“I love you, Joan,” the Deputy exclaims.

Fiendish Ferguson smirks.

“I know.”

Shortly after these events, the Hungry Jack’s closes forever. Their silky secretions closed it down.

~*~Steamy, sexy end~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Thesis work has destroyed me and I am woefully sorry for this trash.


End file.
